


The Feeding Line

by ironicpalmtree



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Lawyer Gavin, M/M, Merc Ryan, college days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicpalmtree/pseuds/ironicpalmtree
Summary: They meet in college.In an ethics class of all places.--Los Santos has a funny way of bringing people together.





	The Feeding Line

**Author's Note:**

> Named after the song by Boy and Bear - you should all go listen!
> 
> There's a bit of violence but I wouldn't call it graphic. Still, tread lightly if that ain't your jam!

**Act I.**

 

They meet in college.

In an ethics class of all places.

Ryan’s half asleep at his seat, knees jammed up under the tiny fold out desk and back beginning to cramp uncomfortably from his hunched position. The drone of the professor melts into an indeterminable buzz as his eyes begin to droop and he struggles to keep the classroom in focus.

Ryan had spent most of the night crouched in a half-empty dumpster, plastic bag full of stolen cash between his feet and an old, scratched up glock clenched tight in his sweaty palms. By the time he’d returned to his shitty studio apartment and washed off the grime and sweat from the night’s activities, his busted alarm clock had been blaring and the early bus for college was already rumbling down the street.

Ryan’s chin is tucked into his chest, a faint line of drool meandering through the rough stubble on his jaw when the door bangs open. He jolts in his seat, blank notebook and pen falling off the desk with a clatter.

All eyes turn towards the front of the class where a kid is standing, looking decidedly sheepish and shuffling nervously. He’s wire thin, hair sticking out at all angles and wide eyes a startling green. A battered book bag is slung over one shoulder, sheets of paper poking out every which way and covered in a chicken scratch Ryan could never hope to decipher. A stained textbook is tucked under one arm – _Common Law Negligence and Legislation_ – another titled _Professional Legal Conduct_ spilling from the top of his satchel.

“Sorry!” The kid squeaks out in a British accent before scurrying to an empty desk and pulling out a bent notepad. The professor says nothing, just rolls his eyes in exasperation and turns back to the board to begin his monologue anew.

Ryan’s gaze is glued to the newcomer, his own notebook still lying forgotten on the floor. The Brit is scribbling furiously now, desperately trying to copy down the wall of text on the board that no one else has even bothered to read.

Ryan can’t help but smile to himself, brain too tired to do more than stare absently at the back of the stranger’s head and wonder why on earth an English kid is studying law at a shitty Californian college.

He doesn’t realise he’s been caught staring until the kid tilts his head curiously at him and offers him a confused look. Ryan reels back, cheeks darkening in embarrassment as he wrenches his gaze away. The Brit is still looking at him when he chances a furtive glance forwards again but he only grins cheekily and throws a wink at Ryan.

Ryan can do nothing more than blush and smile shyly back before hastily snapping his attention back to the front at the irritated call of the professor.

 

\--

 

“Name’s Gavin Free.” The Brit declares as he drops into the stool beside him, beer sloshing over the rim of his glass as he slams it down on the bar.

Ryan glances at the kid, too busy concentrating on his programming assessment to pay him too much mind. The stranger seems content enough to sip his beer and glance around the dimly lit college bar while Ryan drafts his code on a half-busted laptop.

“You’re missing the Y.” Gavin finally comments, lips pressed flushed to the smudged rim of his schooner. Ryan barely looks at him, the buzz of conversation in the bar and the _clack clack_ coming from the pool table already enough to give him a pounding headache. Too bad it was the only place with a decent wifi connection this side of campus.

“What?” Ryan finally grunts out, eyes skimming down the screen as he tries to find the one line of code that’s breaking the whole program.

“Your Y.” Gavin forces out between a mouthful of bar nuts he’s recently acquired, he reaches over Ryan’s shoulder and taps at the keyboard. “See? You’re missing a key.”

Ryan looks down at the slender fingers that are splayed on his laptop, following the line of his hand up to a bony wrist and tanned forearm.

“Thanks Captain Obvious.” He grumbles, lifting Gavin’s arm off the computer and ignoring the tingles that go through his hand at the contact. “I’d noticed. Did your mystifying powers of observation also locate the missing F7 key at the top?”

Gavin pouts as he drains the last of his drink, sharp eyes searching for the bartender as he hails for another. “That’s mean. I was only trying to help.” He gripes, hooking his chin over Ryan’s shoulder so he can watch while the older boy trawls through his code. “Also, you still haven’t told me your name.”

“Ryan Haywood.” Ryan grits out begrudgingly, if only to stop Gavin poking insistently at his side.

“Well Ryan Haywood.” The Brit rolls the name around consideringly and Ryan decides he likes the sound of it in his strangely lilting accent. “What are you doing tonight?”

The poking starts up again as Ryan stays silent and he slams the lid of his laptop down with a frustrated sigh. “Evidently not my _very important_ , _have to hand it in or I fail college_ , assignment.”

Gavin just gives a blithe smile and bats his eyelashes. “Good.” He says, calling to the bartender so he can order Ryan a drink. “We can do nothing together then.”

 

\--

 

Ryan closes the door of his apartment with a sigh and leans his forehead against the cheap plywood. He’s careful not to let the blood and grime that’s caked on his face get on the flaking white paint.

He drops his backpack by the metal foldout table and camp chairs he calls a dining set and trudges to the bathroom. The rusted faucets creak in protest as he twists them on, the water bursting out violently before slowing to a barely-there trickle.

Ryan scrubs at his face with an old wash cloth, the mixture of dried blood, sweat and mud pooling in the sink like dirty river water. A creak behind him makes him start and he rips his pistol from his waist band, whirling around to face the intruder.

_Someone must have followed him home from the job, or the gang had sent a member to finish him off and take their money back –_

“Ryan?” Gavin yawns out, blearily rubbing his eyes as reaches around for a light switch. It takes several seconds for the cheap fluorescent to flicker on.

Ryan is frozen. The gun is still pointed stiffly at the bathroom door and water is dripping down his face and onto his stained shirt. There’s blood in the sink and under his fingernails, a cut over his eye and knuckle shaped bruises blossoming below his jaw.

Gavin is staring at him with wide terrified eyes, gaze flicking quickly between the gun and his face and back again.

“Ry…” He forces out, voice tight and fear barely contained. “What’s this Ryan? What’s happening?”

Ryan swallows several times, throat dry and no words able to force themselves out. He manages to lower the gun at least, dropping it hastily in the bath as though it was burning him.

Gavin jumps backwards at the loud clatter, flinches when Ryan takes a step forward.

“Gavin. What are you doing here?” Ryan finally rasps out, light tremors going through his frame as he realises how much he’s _fucked up_.

 _It’s been months. The perfect, fairy-tale college fling._ _So many coffees and breakfasts - Gavin always stealing his hash browns instead of just ordering his own. So many nights spent curled around each other in bed or sitting up on the couch, quizzing each other for impending mid-semesters. A warm arm looped through his own, soft brown hair tickling his chin, a smile that was more dazzling than the sweltering Californian sun…_

And now Gavin looks at him with obvious horror on his face. He backs up fast, falling over the half-zipped backpack by the table and tumbling to the floor. Bundles of cash spill out of the upturned bag and Gavin stares at it with disbelief and confusion.

“R-Ryan.” He whispers, the name falling like lead in the tepid night air. “Ryan. What have _you done_?”

He can almost see Gavin connecting the dots as an array of expressions flash across his face and Ryan knows what Gavin’s thinking about. His odd disappearances, sometimes days long and his returns always in the dead of night. His sporadic periods of wealth. The faded bruises and scars that are a perpetual addition on his fair skin.

Ryan’s panicking, chest tightening and breath coming out too fast, _too fast_. He’s irrational, mind jumping to the worst-case scenarios as he reaches for the gun that lies discarded in the tub.

 _He’ll call the cops._ Ryan reasons, trying to ignore the shake in his arms as he steps out of the bathroom. _He’ll get me kicked of college or thrown in jail._ Gavin sees the gun held loosely at his side and the painfully blank expression on Ryan’s face and scrambles backwards until he’s pressed against the door. _He’ll blackmail me, he’ll never trust me again, he’ll take the money, I need the money –_

“Leave.” Ryan growls out, not willing to say more when his voice is so close to _breaking_. “Get out of here. Don’t come back.”

Gavin’s eyes are shining with tears as he looks up at him, arms raised feebly over his head like that will protect him from a bullet.

“Ryan…” He whimpers out, sounding betrayed and hurt and terrified. “Ryan, you don’t need to do this! Whatever you’ve done we can - ”

Ryan unclips the safety and raises the gun, fingers so weak he knows he’d never have the strength to pull the trigger. “I said get out.” He spits, bearing his teeth and looming over the smaller man.

He can’t breathe and everything’s too hot and too cold at once. But Ryan knows this is the right thing to do. Gavin - beautiful, intelligent, sunny Gavin, didn’t deserve this. And Ryan didn’t deserve him.

Gavin heaves himself up and wrenches at the door, stumbling out of the apartment and down the hallway. Ryan watches him go, waits for his frantic footsteps on the stairwell to fade before he shuts the door and slides the bolt home.

He hurls his gun at the wall, kicks the camping table over and stalks back to the bathroom.

He wrenches the taps on once again and starts scrubbing at his hands. Digging hard into the grooves of his palms, underneath chewed fingernails. He rubs harder, determined to get all of the blood, the dirt, the _shame_ , the _guilt_ off of his hands.

 

**Act II.**

 

They meet in a penthouse.

In a living room surrounded almost entirely by glass, with the great, sprawling, crime-ridden mass of Los Santos spread out before them.

Ryan’s waiting nervously by the TV, perched precariously on the edge of a plush leather couch when he walks through the door.

“Geoff?” Gavin calls, eyes glued to his phone as he pads barefoot down the hallway, “The buyer’s just texted. He’s changed the meeting to seven.” A crisp white dress-shirt is only half buttoned up, the cuffs still open and pooling at his wrists. His hair is slicked carelessly back, a habit he still clearly holds from his college days.

He looks up.

Ryan sits frozen on the couch, mouth comically agape and the whites of his eyes showing. Gavin drops his phone with a curse, the clatter deafening as both men stare at each other.

“Ryan.” Gavin finally says, taking a deep breath and appearing to collect himself. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, _can’t answer._ He’s too busying trying to reconcile the fact that Gavin – half-dressed and semi-asleep Gavin – is standing in Geoff Ramsey’s living room, looking at Ryan like _he’s_ the intruder.

“Me?!” Ryan exclaims eventually, rising from the couch and circling the coffee table, “What are _you_ doing here Gavin?!” He lowers his voice, glancing warily around before leaning closer to the Brit. “Do you even know what this place is?”

Gavin watches him impassively for a moment, sharp gaze cataloguing everything about Ryan’s face. He’s grown his stubble out into a half beard now and his hair has started to curl around his temples. There’s a fleshy pink scar on his cheek and a fading bruise curling around his right eyebrow.

Gavin laughs, and throws his hand up dismissively before bending to pick up his phone. He inspects it for any dints or cracks before pocketing it with a huff. “Oh don’t be naïve Ryan.” He flashes the older man an empty grin, “We live in Los Santos, I couldn’t fight the inevitable.”

Ryan’s trying to work through an answer but too many memories, touches, feelings are clashing with the image of Gavin before him – the youthful roundness has gone from his face and he clearly looks just about ready to begin another day of criminal negotiations.

“King!” An unfamiliar voice booms from the hallway before Ramsey rounds the corner, tattooed arms spread open in welcome.

Ryan and Gavin jump apart and turn towards the crime lord with guilty expressions.

Geoff regards them for a moment, a flash of concern flickering through his sleepy eyes as he claps Gavin on the back. “Did I interrupt something?” He asks, the question directed mostly at the Brit.

Gavin shakes his head stiffly, brushing Geoff’s arm off and backing himself out of the living room. “Nope. Just greeting the new hire.” He tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace, Geoff clearly doesn’t buy it as he shoots Ryan a suspicious look.

Gavin’s eyes flick to Ryan’s one more time, a mournful light tinged deep within. They all start when his phone starts ringing – an obnoxious loop of birds squawking – and Gavin pulls the device from his pocket. He shakes it at Geoff, lips barely pulling up in a smile as he checks the caller ID. “That’s the buyer again. I’d best be going.”

The ringtone fades as he retreats down the hall and Geoff turns to face Ryan with a guarded expression. He raises his eyebrow, lip pulled over his bottom teeth as he regards the mercenary standing before him.

“Do you want to add something to Gavin’s bullshit explanation?”

Ryan shoves his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders and wishing he was anywhere but here. “It was just a misunderstanding.” He mumbles to his shoes, glancing up quickly to catch Geoff watching him warily.

“Thought I knew him. But I must be thinking of someone else.”

 

\--

 

“Free!”

A man is stalking down the narrow street towards them, a pissed off expression on his face and the obvious flash of a gun beneath his jacket.

Ryan stiffens, reaching for the gun at his hip. The metal is cool and soothing, the safety lever a heavy and familiar weight beneath his fingertips. Gone are the days of scratched up glocks and pawn-shop pistols.

He steps in front of Gavin smoothly, pulling the gun out its holster and adopting the weaver stance. The man hesitates in his charge, a calculating look on his face as he weighs up his options.

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you!” Gavin calls out, slouched behind Ryan with a smarmy grin plastered all over his face. “My guard dog’s known to have a fairly vicious bite.”

Ryan flinches inwardly at the name; Gavin’s become fond of it over the past several weeks of working together. He does however straighten up his posture, pulling his shoulders back and tilting his head so he stands tallest in the alley. Dusty sunlight filters in between the closely packed buildings, elongating his shadow and twisting it as it reaches out towards the other man.

“Ramsey wants no business with you.” Gavin continues primly, looking exceptionally bored as he inspects his fingernails. “Everyone knows that the Fakes don’t work with rats.”

The man snarls, loose jowls wobbling as he shakes his head furiously. “Enough of your bullshit.” He spits out and Ryan tenses as the other reaches into the folds of his jacket. “We had a deal. Where’s the money?”

Gavin just rolls his eyes, shooting Ryan an exasperated look and sighing dramatically. “I’ve had quite enough of this.” He says loudly, already turning his back on the spluttering gang member. “Come now King, I’ve got lots of work to do today.”

Ryan resentfully turns to follow Gavin, gritting his teeth at the Brit’s condescending tone. He didn’t like this Gavin – bitter, jaded, apathetic – Los Santos had corrupted him.

There’s a furious roar behind them, the unmistakeable click as a mag is shoved into place.

Ryan barely falters, spinning and shooting the man a split second before he fires. The other’s bullet goes flying up into the brickwork as he collapses, showering all three with dust.

Gavin turns back around, sparing a single glance at the dying man before fixing Ryan with a bored expression.

“Leave him there.” There’s no emotion in his tone, as if he’s just made some inane comment about the weather or the state of politics. “The cops aren’t gonna care about a dead body in El Burro.”

He absent-mindedly brushes brick fragments off the collar of his shirt, frowning at the reddish stain it leaves behind on the white fabric. Gavin turns and leaves without another word but Ryan can’t quite bring himself to follow.

Next to him the man gasps out his final breaths, the blood that’s spilled out onto his chest almost black in the shade. Ryan watches him die with a hollow feeling in his stomach, the metal of his gun burning painfully hot in his palm.

“Sorry.” He mumbles at the body, before stepping over it and trailing after Gavin.

 

\--

 

They stand together in the rain. Huddled under a black umbrella Gavin had happened to find in the car.

The downpour is loud in their ears and it drums relentlessly down on the tarmac of the deserted parking lot. Great rivers of water burst from over-flowing storm drains and flood across the space, drenching their shoes and the bottoms of their trousers.

Gavin grumbles to himself, shifting from foot to foot and bumping Ryan as he tries to get further under the umbrella.

“They’re not bloody coming.” He snaps after ten minutes, scowl barely visible to Ryan in the gloom of an overcast dusk. “I’m not standing here for another half an hour while we wait for them to never turn up.”

“They’re not even 15 minutes late.” Ryan reasons, adjusting the umbrella as the rain begins to blow slightly sideways. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing – he’s feeling cold and miserable and uncomfortable huddled so close to Gavin.

“That’s it!” Gavin exclaims after another five minutes of standing in silence. “We’re going to wait in the car.”

‘Waiting in the car’ turned out to mean sitting in a cramped Chinese restaurant in Little Seoul.

The place is dirty and the walls are haphazardly covered in gold and red banners, random pictures of dragons spread throughout the mass. Ryan is sceptical of the place, half convinced that a money-laundering operation is hidden behind the thin paper walls at the back of the restaurant.

Gavin brushes his concerns off and sets to working through the bowl of complimentary prawn chips while they wait for their meals.

It’s not until they’re halfway through their hulking piles of Mongolian lamb and honey chicken that Ryan’s hit with the wave of nostalgia.

 _There’d been a place down the road from his college apartment,_ Lee’s Palace _or some other stereotypical name, shitty and cramped just like this but perfect for getting take out. When Ryan had money left over from his ‘jobs’ or Gavin had been given another instalment of his scholarship, they’d always order a feast. They’d fall asleep early, stomachs taut with rice and flavoured meat, a crappy horror movie playing on the TV…too bloated to be snuggled together but hands linked so their contact was never broken._

He watches Gavin push around the large pieces of onion on his plate and he can’t help but laugh. The Brit shoots a suspicious look at him and Ryan waves his fork at the other man’s plate.

“You always leave the onion.” He explains once he’s forced down a mouthful of fried rice and sweet chicken. “My bin would always reek after we’d had takeout.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across Gavin’s face but the memories are too sharp, too raw between them and they both settle back into sullen silence.

“We should go.” Gavin says, once Ryan’s scraped his plate clean and he’s left a pile of onion and capsicum pieces on the side of his own plate.

Ryan agrees instantly and stands abruptly, waiting for Gavin to drop a few bills onto the table before leaving.

It’s still raining when they step outside, the low awning that lines the shop providing little shelter in the blustering wind.

Gavin winds his cardigan tighter around himself and lowers his head against the gale as they make their way to the car. Ryan follows closely behind the Brit, fighting the phantom urge to take off his jacket and hold it over the other man’s head.

A low groan breaks through the dull rush of the rain as they pass by an alleyway and Gavin pauses, peering through the gloom to find a dark form slumped by an abandoned shopping trolley.

Ryan grabs at the Brit’s arm as he lurches towards the alley, shaking his head in warning when the younger whips his head furiously back to look at him. Gavin wrenches his arm out of his grip and runs to the hunched figure. Ryan steps in hesitantly after him, one hand resting firmly on his gun holster.

“Are you alright?” Gavin raises his voice to be heard over the rain, recoiling backwards when the stranger’s groans and blood sprays from beneath his hands.

Even in the dark Ryan can tell the wound is bad. A jagged slash in his gut, flesh tattered and too much red spilling out between shaking fingers. The kid looks young, college-aged at the most. He’s whimpering as Gavin tries to talk to him, eyes fluttering wildly when the Brit puts more pressure on the wound.

Gavin’s asking him question after question but the kid can only offer indecipherable grunts and moans in return. His dark skin is going clammy and cold under Gavin’s frantic attention and soon enough his eyelids began to droop.

Gavin’s yelling at him to stay awake, screaming at Ryan to call an ambulance, while his trembling hands fruitlessly try to hold the wound together. The kid stops responding soon enough but Ryan only pulls Gavin away when he goes truly limp.

The Brit fights him, pushing back towards the prone form on the ground while Ryan drags him towards the car.

“What are you doing Ry?!” Gavin cries, and the nickname makes Ryan’s breath catch, “What are you doing? We can save him, we can save him!”

“He’s gone Gavin.” Ryan grits out whilst shoving the younger man into the car, “There’s nothing we can do.”

He pulls away from the curb before Gavin can jump out of the car and run back to the alley. The Brit folds his arms over his chest, face shrouded in shadow as he struggles not to shiver. They’re both sopping wet, hair and clothes dripping and leaving marks on the leather upholstery on the seats.

Gavin doesn’t speak until they’re almost back to downtown, although he’s been shooting furious glares at Ryan for the better part of the ride.

“We could have saved him.” He whispers bitterly, brokenly as Ryan pulls off the freeway. “He didn’t have to die.”

“There’s nothing we could have done.” Ryan maintains firmly, ignoring the baleful look Gavin sends his way.

“There was, you bastard!” He hisses, leaning towards Ryan and bearing his teeth. “If you hadn’t been such a heartless prick, if you’d _cared_ enough we could have helped him.”

The words sting more than they should and Ryan’s been on edge since this whole assignment started. He bites back.

“If _I’d_ cared.” He growls out, wrenching at the wheel as he rounds a corner, “Why do you care?!”

Gavin doesn’t respond, just eyes him resentfully from the passenger seat.

“Just last week we left a guy bleeding out in an alley. Two days ago, we screwed some poor gang members out of a 100k take. Last time I checked you had no problem with robbing people and leaving them there to die.”

“This is different!” Gavin insists, hands beginning to wring the edges of his shirt in agitation, “He was innocent. He was just a kid -”

Ryan pulls up to the curb outside the penthouse violently and both of them lurch forwards painfully. “No one’s innocent in Los Santos Gavin, you said it yourself. He got what he deserved for living in this shit hole of a city.”

Gavin snarls at him, eyes blazing with anger and upper lip drawn back like he’s about to snap. Ryan knows he’s not angry about the kid, not really. It’s…what’s left between them – the tension, the baggage, the unresolved hurt – that’s making Gavin claw and fight and bite.

Ryan stays silent, watches while Gavin works through whatever suppressed memories are bubbling up inside. Eventually, the tension leaves him and he slumps in his seat, long fingers pulling tightly at his hair.

“We were just kids…” He mumbles, and he sounds so desperately young and heartbroken.

Ryan reaches a hand tentatively out but Gavin flinches away. He’s reminded of _that night_ , when every step he took had Gavin recoiling like a frightened animal. “I’m sorry.”

Gavin lifts his head, eyes red rimmed and shadows pooling in the hollows beneath. “What?”

He sounds incredulous, sounds like he can’t quite believe the two words have finally come.

“I was scared.” Ryan presses on, throat tightening up as the night comes rushing back in vivid detail. “I didn’t know what to do. You weren’t meant to be there. I shouldn’t have pulled a gun.”

He lowers his eyes, shame and guilt burning deep in his gut. “I – I couldn’t trust you not to tell.”

Gavin jerks as though he’s been burned, shrinks away when Ryan reaches out again.

“Couldn’t trust me…” He repeats, and the words come out bitter and twisted, like Ryan’s just confirmed what he’s been thinking for years. “I told you I _loved you_ Ryan. What the fuck did you think that meant?”

The word is too harsh coming out of Gavin’s mouth and Ryan cringes, words and placations bubbling up before he can stop them.

“I-I know you did. But I was confused and tired an-and I was so afraid of what you’d do…I had to drive you away.”

Gavin’s moving now, wrenching his seatbelt off and shoving the door open.

“Gavin please!” Ryan calls desperately, leaning over to see the other man hunched in the rain. “You were right, we were just kids. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Gavin ducks his head so Ryan can see him; his expression’s gone cold, eyes narrowed like they are when he’s dealing with a particularly annoying client.

“Don’t bother coming back.” He says stiffly and there’s rain dripping down his face in some tragic facsimile of tears. “I’ll tell Ramsey your contract with the Fakes is finished.”

He slams the door before Ryan can get a word in and quickly disappears into the shroud of rainy gloom. Ryan sits silent for a moment, the quiet rumble of the car almost drowned out by the heavy _spat spat_ of rain on the windscreen.

It all feels so damn familiar – the ache in his chest and the breathing too fast, _too fast_. Except there’s no gun to throw this time, no cheap camp table to kick over, no naïve hope to hold on to that things might be alright.

Ryan shoves the car back into gear and drives back to his motel room.

 

**Act III.**

 

They meet in a police lock-up

In an empty room lined with linoleum and covered in faint blood-stains.

Ryan’s lying on the ground, one eye swollen shut and the side of his face welling up with shiny, pink burns. The road rash on his torso hasn’t stopped bleeding and his shirt is dotted with a pin-prick pattern of blood.

He’s half conscious, ears ringing and eyes unfocused when Gavin steps in the room.

A cop kicks him in the side and he yelps, rolling away from the man as he shoves knuckles between his teeth to suppress a groan.

“Your lawyer’s here King.” The cop spits at him, a glob of phlegm landing on Ryan’s flaming cheek as he leans over him. Ryan closes his eyes and curls further inwards; Liberty City cops were always the most brutal.

“If you touch him again I’ll have you suspended.” The rushing that’s going through Ryan’s head makes Gavin seem far away, but Ryan registers a grunt and a clang as the holding cell door is closed behind the officer.

Ryan keeps his eyes screwed shut, too injured and too dazed to be dealing with the fact that Gavin was _here_. Ramsey had probably sent him, heard of the botched job days ago, knew it was only a matter of the time before Ryan got caught.

Ryan’s still shaking, the explosion and _crunch_ as his motorcycle got thrown into a wall is still ringing over and over in his head. He doesn’t want to look at Gavin, see that detached expression on his face.

“What are you doing here?” He breathes out, grunting as he shifts and even more blood blooms in messy splotches on his shirt. Gavin doesn’t answer, he hears only footsteps and the shifting of clothes as the Brit kneels. Ryan’s breathing is sharp and shallow and he’s sure he’s got a cracked rib or two but it doesn’t stop him from taking a large breath when gentle fingers start carding through his hair.

He opens his eyes to see Gavin looming over him, a soft, concerned look on his face. The younger traces the swollen line of his jaw, tucks a loose curl behind his ear and plays with the short grey hairs that are starting to grow there.

“Oh Ry.” He sighs out, rubbing at the smear of blood across his forehead. “What mess have you gotten yourself into?”

Ryan can only grunt in confusion and wonder if he’s hit his head a lot harder than he thought. Gavin smiles patiently at him, hands moving gently down his sides as he checks for any serious injuries. Ryan hisses as he brushes by the road rash, a short lick of fire flaring up his side, but Gavin soothes him with a hush and a firm stroke through his hair.

“We were worried about you.” He speaks lowly, so Ryan’s already pounding headache doesn’t worsen. “I asked Geoff to send me after you. You should know better than to take on the Lost.”

Ryan nods his head weakly, the pain that’s throbbing through him like a tangible testament to his stupidity. Gavin laughs softly and calls him a duffer, all the while playing with the hairs at the base of his neck.

If Ryan closes his eyes he can almost pretend it was years ago, and they were in a tiny apartment instead of a sterile cell. Gavin would always clean his cuts and bruises when he got home from a job; his excuses seem feeble now, complete bullshit that Gavin brushed away in place of his concern for Ryan. _I fell off my bike_ he would say while Gavin cleaned dirt from a gash in his neck. _I tried to break up a fight at the bar_ he’d offer while Gavin pressed an icepack to the bruise on his eye.

He reaches up and grasps at Gavin’s wrist weakly, struggling to force words past his burning throat.

Gavin shushes him again and adjusts Ryan’s grip so they’re holding hands for a moment. “I have to go talk to the sergeant.” He says quietly, slowly withdrawing his hand from Ryan’s slack hold. “I need to convince him to let me post bail for you.”

Ryan swallows and nods, eyes already flickering shut.

“I’ll be back soon.” Gavin whispers, petting through his hair one last time. “I’m taking you home.”

 

\--

 

Ryan knocks on the penthouse door and it’s thrown open almost immediately, Michael greeting him with a bellow and a swift slap on the back.

“Ryan my boy!” Geoff booms as he walks into the living room, he’s already cracking open another diet coke and offering it over the couch as Ryan ventures closer.

“Great work today Ryan!” Jeremy swings past and punches Ryan in the arm, the whisky in his other hand sloshing messily with the motion. “Who knew you could hack so well.”

“I did!” Gavin pipes up from his place by the window and Ryan snaps his eyes up to give the younger man a sharp look.

“How the fuck did you know that?” Michael questions, voice too loud for the small space, “You guys barely ever talk.” There’s high flags of colour on the Jersey man’s cheeks and Ryan’s certain the heist celebration had begun long before he’d got to the penthouse.

Gavin just shrugs and shoots Ryan a mischievous little smile, shrinking away and squawking loudly when Michaels tries to ruffle his perfectly styled hair.

Ryan can only grin to himself and settle into an arm chair that faces the TV, watch Geoff and Jack argue as they mess around in a Halo mission, listen while Jeremy tries and fails to rap along with the song that’s blaring from the radio.

The Fakes had been wary when Ryan had returned to Los Santos. Suspicious of his sudden departure a year earlier and Gavin’s resolute silence on the issue. But with each stakeout and mission, they had begun to soften.

Jack first, won over by Ryan’s mutual love of supercars and frequent offers to help whenever he found him cooking in the kitchen.

Jeremy next - content to sit with Ryan the whole day and clean his copious gun collection, chatting about their experiences with East Coast gangs and their shared hate of the LCPD.

Geoff and Michael came around more slowly, the younger naturally suspicious and the older intensely protective of his crew. Ryan had won them both over in a job gone wrong, when he’d dragged an unconscious Jack from a smoking building, coughing and choking but refusing to let the other man go.

Gavin had been understandably aloof since their encounter in the lock-up; hesitant and shy around Ryan as though he no longer knew how to act. Their history sat between them like an uncrossable divide – painful memories and unresolved tension leaving them not quite healed, not quite ready to start again.

At times they couldn’t help themselves, falling back into old habits from another time. A steaming mug of tea left on Gavin’s desk as he worked. A new mask placed on Ryan’s bed after the old one got torn up in a motorcycle accident.

Little things that mean nothing to the others. Little things that told Ryan the scars might finally be fading, the clouds finally clearing.

Later, when the other four are sprawled out over the couches - bellies full of Geoff’s home-made brisket and eyes falling low while they watch repeats of Criminal Minds – Gavin sidles up to him.

Ryan is sitting at a bar stool, leaning on the island counter playing with the tab he’d ripped from his coke can.

“Hey.” Gavin says quietly, nudging Ryan in the side and making him jump.

Ryan glances quickly at him, quirking his eyebrow while he pushes Gavin’s ticklish hand away.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asks and Ryan gives him an exasperated look, dropping the metal tab on the granite with a tiny _clink_.

“Clearly I’m doing absolutely nothing.” He answers, stifling a laugh when Jack’s snores begin to filter out from the living area.

Ryan watches as a slow grin overtakes Gavin’s features, and the Brit slides onto a stool next to him.

“Good.” He says softly, pressing his palms down on the bench so they lie flat next to Ryan’s. “We can do nothing together then.”

 

\--

 

Gavin slips into his room without a word, closing the door with a quiet _click_ that makes Ryan jerk out of his half-slumber.

“Gavin…what’s up?” His voice is rough as he sits up, the sheet falling away from his bare chest and silvery scars shining in the moonlight.

“Nothing.” Gavin mumbles back, sliding in beside him like this is what they do every night.

“Gavin.” Ryan has gone tense, but the warmth of Gavin’s hands on his shoulders forces him to slump down.

A kiss is pressed to his cheek, another to his forehead and Ryan feels like time has jumped back ten years. His breathing picks up, going too fast, _too fast_ but Gavin soothes him; pulling him to lie down and nestling closer so they’re pressed skin to skin.

“It’s alright.” The Brit whispers, and Ryan feels dry lips brushing down his bicep, along the line of his pec.

“I’ve missed you.”

All the air leaves Ryan’s lungs in a great _whoosh_ and it’s feels like he’s broken through. Memories are fragmenting, Gavin’s terrified face melting away to be replaced by his warmth, his smell, his voice.

“Gav-” The name comes out trembling, and Ryan presses his mouth to the younger’s hair to stop a whimper escaping too. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry.”

He can feel Gavin nodding, making soft noises of agreement against his throat.

“I do Ry, I do. I know you are, it’s alright.” A hand is in his hair, pulling just hard enough to ground Ryan and keep him from losing his breath. “We were both just kids.”

Ryan wraps an arm around Gavin’s waist and pulls the other tight against him. There’s tears in his eyes and his heart thumps erratically against his chest but he hasn’t felt this right in years.

Not since another time, another place. On a shitty mattress, with springs poking through, a pile of textbooks and notepads sitting at the end of the bed.

Ryan closes his eyes and dreams of college days long gone.

Dreams of an ethics class of all places.

_A door bangs open, all eyes turn to the front._

Ryan smiles in his sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually up for prompts [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aliteratepalmtree%20)  
> There's always work and responsibilities to be avoided!!
> 
> Also cheers to redvsvblue for your help - you're much better at grammar than I ever will be ; D


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